


Interlude B25

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [198]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Boats and Ships, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Gay Sex, Heaven, Injury, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mystery, Plans For The Future, Recovery, Retirement, Revenge, Supernatural Elements, Trauma, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 06:52:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17576006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Some people are puzzled, someone is briefly if unjustifiably relieved, and Sherlock makes an important decision.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyster99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyster99/gifts).



Despite a thorough investigation the Great Eastern Railway Company was never able to fully establish precisely how Mr. Edward Bennett and Mr. Philip Larrikin, driver and fireman of engine number 721, had contrived to get their locomotive from Stratford Works to Liverpool Street Station without its movement being recorded by any of the signal-boxes along the line. It was oddly similar to the strange disappearance and reappearance of 721's sister-engine _'Silver Blaze'_ some years before although mercifully with no embarrassing publicity this time. In the end the matter was ascribed to an Act of God; indeed it had been most fortuitous in that, in an even stranger coincidence, the gentleman who had recovered _'Silver Blaze'_ , Mr. Sherlock Holmes, had come to Liverpool Street requesting a special train just when this bizarre event happened. The Company had intended to discipline the driver and fireman but somehow it never quite happened.

Also concerning this Company, a porter at the station in Brightlingsea, Essex, claimed that he saw a huge flash of light from inside the station-building and that something 'dark and mysterious' flew out of the window afterwards and disappeared in the direction of the North Sea. He was set to be given a warning for drunkenness until three visitors to the area who had been walking opposite the station reported exactly the same thing to the local newspaper. His station-master was advised to keep an eye on him in future as regards alcoholic consumption, although after this event the porter became teetotal. As did the three visitors to the area.

A number of booksellers in central London were puzzled that while their stores showed no evidence of having been broken into, someone had for some reason re-arranged their main display windows. In all cases this was put down to poor communication between staff members.

Master Tantalus Holmes was not totally surprised when his recent literary purchase disappeared shortly after his return home and that when he later inquired, the British Library had no record of any such book or author on their extensive records. Showing a wisdom beyond his tender years he did not pursue the matter but spent his time trying desperately to avoid his parents who were if anything becoming even mushier around him. I mean, kissing while walking in the park? There was a child present! Worse, there were families whose boys went to school with him present!

And up in Heaven, Mrs. God read a most interesting book on the ancient English navy and smiled down at Her little cutesy-wootsy far below who was once more happy in the knowledge that his beloved hunter was safe. 

Her smile faded, Her eyes narrowed, and there were some decidedly unusual tidal shifts in a major waterway down on Earth. Her beloved angel and hunter were indeed safe - _unlike some people......_

֍


	2. Chapter 2

**The English Channel**

Mr. Bacchus Holmes sighed in relief as Dover finally disappeared over the horizon, even though the ship seemed to be moving far too slowly in the heavy swell. Thank the Lord that he had had the foresight to gather enough incriminating evidence against his own bosses so that his 'request' for an immediate overseas posting had been granted in a little under ninety seconds. Surely his mother would cool down given a few weeks. Months. Years?

The first hint that she perhaps might not came when his suitcase was brought in and left on his bed. He opened it then stepped back in shock. It was not that every single item of his clothing had been very thoroughly shredded – that was bad enough – but worse, there was a familiar-looking crest on the envelope sitting on the remains of his wardrobe. He opened it carefully and found that it was (thankfully) from his father:

_'Bacchus,_

_You have really done it this time. I do not know what or even if you were thinking in not passing on that information about that escaped criminal to Sherlock, but I have to tell you that your Mother is Incandescent (or as your sister rightly calls it, a Level Eleven and only your new wife's presence in the house is preventing a Level Twelve). If the remains of your wardrobe – be assured that she has obtained access to your apartments in London and done the same there as well as selling off all your furniture – do not show you that, then you may care to know that I worked very hard to prevent her from coming after you.'_

The official offered up a silent prayer to his father for that small mercy.

'However there is a price for that kindness on my part, and considering your unspeakably foul actions it is a suitably high one. As you know, your Mother is sometimes wont to read us some of those stories that she writes. Fortunately no publisher in this country has felt impelled to spread the suffering to the masses in England but she has somehow persuaded one in France to put out her twenty most 'interesting' efforts. As I am not overly fond of the French that is quite all right. This will however require someone to translate all these works into French. Someone who speaks the language fluently.'

Mr. Bacchus Holmes shuddered. He had an utterly horrifying (and as things turned out, quite accurate) image of his immediate future. Lord no!

_'When you reach the Continent, someone will be waiting for you. They will hand over your mother's twenty 'best' works for you to translate. These include her fifty-two chapter 'masterpiece', 'The Ups And Downs Of The Roman Emperors' as well as the even worse 'Twenty Nursery Rhymes For Our Age' from which I once absent-mindedly read the amended story of Little Jack Horner and nearly lost my lunch. Please do a thorough job; if there are any complaints from her French editor I may then use Miss Charlotta Bradbury to find out your port of re-entry and 'accidentally' mention it to your mother. Please also note that she will want to discuss each and every work with you when she next sees you, although she will first require a very thorough explanation for your actions. Make it a good one._

_On a not unrelated note Sherlock has purchased your mother a new and even deadlier walking-stick of late; I saw her practising with it the other day. Fortunately for your brother Mycroft this was the day after he had come round to speak in your defence, but the doctors tell me that they expect to be able to remove most if not all of the grape-shot._

Mr. Bacchus Holmes shook. Why was there no damn alcohol in this first-class cabin?

 _By the way, your own good lady wife says that if you are not back in under two months then she will start to send you some of her own efforts for editing, as she believes that in some way my wife's works can be 'spruced up' (the mind boggles!). Believe me, with Miss Bradbury's help she_ will _find you._

_I wish you well although after reading the one about the three hundred Spartans who found a rather different method to 'deter' those Persians you may find it difficult to sleep at night. I know I did. Your mother wanted to go into detail with me about it but fortunately my doctor is a man of such principles as to counsel her that it would certainly be detrimental to my occasional deafness. And if you ever try such a move again, I shall start seeking out editors in Germany, Spain and Russia._

_Father'_

_Postscriptum: You might pick me up some cigars from that place in Paris that you like. The one next to the 'interesting shop' that your mother does not – yet – know that you frequent when you are over there. I would advise against using that shop in the future as you never know which French policeman admirers of Sherlock might just happen to be watching it around the clock._

֍

A few members of the ship's crew did wonder why there was the sound of a fellow crying from one of the first-class cabins, although one of the listeners was distracted by their vessel being overhauled by a fast yacht which was making what seemed like incredible progress through the busy shipping lanes. A yacht which had been chartered by a prominent London lady who was perhaps not in the best of tempers as she had had to stop grabbing the rails around the vessel after she had buckled them.

Someone so used to applying sophistry in his daily life really should have noticed it being turned on him for once. Sir Charles Holmes had not said that he had actually _succeeded_ in dissuading his wife from following through on her desire for immediate retribution. As their son was about one hour from finding out the 'hard' way.....

֍


	3. Chapter 3

_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

John's recovery from the attack was slow and tortuous, and I suffered terribly if deservedly all through that spring as I faced the prospect that I might still lose him. I was never more grateful to his friend Sir Peter Greenwood, who first sent one of his colleagues and, once he had recovered, called in himself several times each day in addition to his own heavy workload, reassuring me that things were progressing well. During that time I took on no cases whatsoever, spending my time sitting on the chair next to his bed. Or in his bed although Sir Peter, smiling far too knowingly, proscribed only limited sexual activity for him, which of course did not improve his mood when he was conscious. I just had to be more inventive.....

This long period of enforced inactivity was also the first time in my life that I gave serious thought to my own mortality. The nature of my work had for a long time made the likelihood of me reaching old bones seem remote but I would be forty-four later that year, and my love had passed forty-six shortly before the attack. While I still felt a moral obligation to use my talents for the people of my country I was also of the opinion that John and I deserved the right to retire one day, and that that day might not be too far into the future. It was at this time that I recalled John's rapture at the beauty of the Sussex Downs back in the Blue Carbuncle Case, and slowly but surely I came to a decision. 

Fifty. I would quit in nineteen hundred and four, on my fiftieth birthday in September of that year. We would retire to a small cottage on the Downs where I could raise bees and we could live as man and... man, far away from the world and all its demands. Bacchus, God damn him, could make some minuscule step towards an apology by ensuring our anonymity, though I doubted that I could ever forgive what he had done. Had I lost John as a result, then Mr. Alistair Campbell would have had company on his final journey!

That reminded me; the lounge-lizard had been transferred back to an English hospital after Mother had caught up with him in France (Mr. Godfreyson's brother Harold the tide-waiter had been able to assist in helping the fast yacht that I had hired for her clear Dover in record time, although it still seemed incredulous that her yacht had contrived to overtake his ship). The assassin Mrs. Kyndley's offer to 'directly remove' Bacchus was looking more and more tempting..... but not until he had done all that 'lovely' translation work. One must not stand in the way of literature, even if it is written by my mother.

Six more years. I gently ran my hand over the chest of the slumbering man in the bed next to me and he rumbled his approval, edging instinctively closer to me as he slept.

Six more years. It seemed a hellishly long time but I could wait. For the man beside me, I would wait forever. And in the meantime I could plot my own revenge against a certain lounge-lizard of a brother. Now what other languages did Bacchus have even a basic understanding of.....?

֍


End file.
